Last night I sat at a local swimming pool watching my daughter compete in yet another swim meet. She stepped up on the block to swim the first event, cleared the shallow dive, and began her smooth freestyle stroke. When she turned her head to take her first breath, I realize the force of her dive had shoved her goggles down over her mouth. Panic rose within me as I thought: “She can’t breathe; if she touches her goggles, she will be disqualified; how can she complete a 200-meter race with goggles over her mouth? She will never make it – oh God, please help her make it.”
Made it she did, and I had to laugh. Only a mother would work herself into a dither at a summer swim meet. And then, an insight: this is what we lose when our mothers die. We lose the person who rejoices in our accomplishments and agonizes in our struggles; the person who thinks we should win every race, and succeeded at every job; the person whose first urge is to protect, shelter, and guide us; the person who knows what is best for us, or thinks she does; the person who brags about us in our absence and offers expert advice in our presence. In sum, we lose the person who is our biggest fan and are most confident defender. With all the praise, it is important to remember that mothers and their children form complicated relationships. Mothers are not perfect and neither are their children. Some mothers are confident and others are critical, some mothers maintain control even into their children’s adulthood, and others foster a sense of guidance early on. Whatever your relationship is with your mother, it is important to acknowledge the feelings and grieve what has been lost. When you lose your mother, your loss hits on many levels. Here are a few of the losses you may be experiencing:
Loss of Unconditional Love – Relationships with mothers often resemble the one portrayed in Margaret Wise Brown’s Runaway Bunny, with a mischievous, headstrong little bunny cannot shake off his mother’s love no matter what he does. After repeated testing, the Bunny finally gives up and comes home. It is an apt analogy for the staying power of the mother’s love. It is often tested, but rarely fails. So when a mother dies, the loss of unconditional love is often a loss that no one else can understand, much less fill.
Loss of Identity – Roberta Bondi has written in Memories of God: “It has always been the deepest of mysteries to me that my mother has an intimate knowledge of me as a baby and as a child that I myself can never have access to it all. It is as though a fundamental part of me has existence only in my mother’s memory, and when my mother dies this part of me will die, too.” As life goes on, people may note of you, “She is her mother’s daughter – she could organize an army” or “He is his mother son – he loves that farmland.” In each case, one’s mother is a point of reference in determining one’s identity. Even if that involves the admission that “she’s not one bit like her mother,” it is nonetheless a point of reference. When a mother dies, we lose a piece of who we are. We lose the person whose story provides the beginning of our own, whose sense of self greatly impacts who we are. It is not unusual to wonder: “If I am no longer my mother’s child, then who am I?”
Loss of a Family Connector – Through phone conversations, visits, letters, or email, mothers frequently stay in touch with each child. It is not atypical for adult children to ask about siblings or send messages through mom. When a mother dies, some families recognize this loss for what it is, and others wonder why they feel as if they have lost touch with siblings. One family intentionally scheduled a yearly family reunion in a central location for seven distant siblings. The message was explicit. Mom is no longer here to hold us together. We have to find new ways to remain family and remain connected to one another.
Loss of Protection – In the animal world, it is often the mother of the species who guards her offspring and defends them – fiercely – from harm. Mother birds, cats, and lions come quickly to mind, and the message is unmistakable: “Don’t mess with my children!” Just so, human mothers are rarely indifferent to dangers posed to their children. Children may minimize a mother’s efforts to protect them, particularly as they grow older. However, there is a sense of security that accompanies the knowledge that even into adulthood, mothers look out for their children, and God help anyone who attempts harm. That shield of protection, both physical and emotional, is lost when a mother dies.
Loss of Nurturing Touch – When asked about what her mother’s death meant to her, Jessica said, “Even after I was married, I would lay on the sofa at my mother’s home and she would stroke my head and play with my hair as we talked. No one else will ever do that in the same way for me.” There is an intimacy between mother and child that makes human touch both natural and comforting and cannot be replicated. The death of the mother means we lose a mother’s hug and caress. We lose the complete physical acceptance that a mother can give.
Loss of What We Have Taken for Granted – “I walked into a greeting card store in early May just to pick up a few birthday cards. I soon realized there were racks of Mother’s Day cards, and tears came to my eyes. This year, for the first time, I had no one to whom I could send the card. It took a major act of will not to run out of the store.” Kathy’s words are a reminder that what most of the culture takes for granted – celebration of Mother’s Day, in this case – is often a painful reminder of the loss endured.
Loss of What Could Be – Not every mother/child relationship works perfectly, and when a relationship has been particularly difficult, a mother’s death means that the opportunity to make peace face-to-face is gone. That is a loss of another kind, the loss of a dream, of a hope that things could be better. It may feel like there are no more options, no more possibilities for closure, and that means accepting imperfection.
Be gentle with yourself and others. Be patient with yourself – letting go is a long process. Remember that it is important to give voice and acknowledgment to painful realities as a first step in the healing process. Take your emotional pulse and be honest about what you can and cannot do. Don’t feel obligated to do anything. One woman chose not to help select her mother’s casket: “I had no need to do that, and my siblings wanted to. I knew I could use that time and energy in another way.”
Keep and reread the notes and cards people sense. Don’t be afraid of the tears or the reminders; they are ways of both remembering and letting go. On occasion, pick up the phone and call your mom’s friends just to touch base. Don’t expect that family tensions will improve or disappear. If anything, they may get worse, so be prepared for hurt feelings and misunderstandings. Everyone is feeling pain, and it will manifest itself in a variety of ways. Try to remember that your mom was human. Don’t glorify her memory by making her bigger in death than she was in life. That makes her an impossible role model.
Celebrate your memories. Celebrate memories by telling stories about your mom, wearing her perfume or jewelry, framing her favorite pictures and giving them as gifts to your children. Bake her favorite pie or make her favorite recipe – it is a bittersweet reminder of the many ways in which she nourished you. Keep her memory alive not only through stories, but also by making a contribution to a favorite charity, donating books to the library in her name, planting a tree at your place of worship, or endowing a scholarship at a local high school. In cherishing and celebrating your memories, you transform your relationship with your mother and ensure that it will endure.
Take heart. When we lose our mothers, we lose much that can’t be replaced. When we are also left with much to cherish – memories, unique personality traits and strengths, wisdom, and hopefully an example that can inspire us to offer nurturing love to those who remain in our lives. A mother’s love, after all, is never lost if it is passed on. ~ Peggy Heinzmann Ekerdt